


When a Line Bends

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames stared at Cobb stonily, but didn't seem to actually be seeing him. There was a muscle jumping in his jaw and a strained tightness to the skin around his eyes. "No man who would rape a fifteen year old girl should be allowed to live," he ground out in a hard, unwavering tone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When a Line Bends

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, like my last one, is complete and utter self indulgence on my part. In content, though, it's the polar opposite of my last fic. Contains non-explicit but unambiguous reference to rape, so consider yourself warned!

The job was a cock-up from the very beginning, as Eames said later. And that was something of an understatement.

The moment they were up and out of the dream, before he had even removed the cannula from his wrist, Eames was standing beside the bed, his gun pressed to the mark's temple.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Cobb yelled, not even trying to keep his voice down as he surged forward.

Before he reached Eames, the forger had already pulled the trigger. The silencer cut the sound but it was still loud in the hotel room, causing them to flinch. Or maybe that was the sudden spatter of dark blood and brain matter that exploded over the white material of the pillow on the opposite side of the mark's head.

"Christ!" Cobb grabbed at his hair, which was probably better than grabbing at the mark, considering that he was now a rather messy corpse, or grabbing Eames, seeing as he was still armed and had just displayed a distinct willingness to shoot to kill.

After an extended moment of shocked stillness, that passed a lot more quickly than it seemed to, Arthur collected himself and jerked into motion, coiling up the PASIV lines a little more rapidly than with his usual care. They were all off them going to have to get out of here, quickly.

Eames disappeared his weapon as fast as he had drawn it and turned away from the bed.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Cobb demanded, and _now_ he was keeping his voice down, though he clearly wanted to shout. His eyes were fierce with anger, confusion, and not a small amount of fear.

Eames stared at Cobb stonily, but didn't seem to actually be seeing him. There was a muscle jumping in his jaw and a strained tightness to the skin around his eyes. "No man who would rape a fifteen year old girl should be allowed to live," he ground out in a hard, unwavering tone.

Cobb stood there, blinking rapidly, as Arthur snapped the PASIV device closed, grasping the handle. They were ready to vacate the room now, and the sooner the better, seeing as they'd be leaving a dead body behind. "Wh-what?" Cobb gasped out, giving his head a little shake.

"Did you get it?" Eames asked, and he was already moving toward the door. "The information we went in there after?"

"I did." Cobb sounded wary and Arthur couldn't blame him. Because Eames looked as though he might kill someone. And seeing that he had just done so....

Eames paused, his hand on the door handle, his shoulders tight. "Then at least something good came out of this venture," he mumbled, and then he was on his way out of the room.

Arthur pressed the PASIV device into Cobb's limp hands. "Take this," he said, frown lines etched deeply between his brows. "And don't let Eames leave without debriefing him. I'm going to sweep the room, get rid of our prints."

Cobb nodded grimly. None of them had worn gloves; normally that wasn't a requirement of extraction. That made things a little more risky as they left the hotel.

Arthur made quick work of the clean-up, while being as thorough as he always was. Fortunately they hadn't any of them touched much in the room aside from the doorknob. And the mark.

After wiping everything down, Arthur prepared to follow his colleagues. He hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on his way out.

It probably wouldn't buy them much time, but every little bit was going to help.

=+=

Cobb was yelling at Eames when Arthur rejoined them in the hotel suite they'd been working out of during this job. The fact that Eames had been staying in one of the suite bedrooms, Arthur thought, was probably the only reason the man was here at all.

Eames was packing with crisp, economical movements, and Arthur didn't think he was imagining that he saw repressed violence in each line of the man's body. He got the distinct feeling that they only had until Eames was finished packing before the man would walk, out of the suite, and out of their lives forever.

"But how do you _know_?" Cobb was asking, obviously pressing the issue, because he was Cobb and he needed answers. And because evidently Cobb was the only one allowed to keep secrets during a job, Arthur thought a little bitterly.

Still, to be completely fair, there was a mark who was now dead, his brains all over the bed, and it had happened on one of Cobb's extractions. That was going to reflect badly on Cobb if it got out, no matter how they spun it.

"It might have been an... an illusion," Cobb was pursuing, his hair a mess. It was obvious he'd been running his fingers through it, tugging at it, the way he did when he was anxious. "Or a-- Just a fantasy. Some, some sort of mistake. How can you be sure he would have--"

"I know," Eames snapped, turning with his suitcase in his hand, his voice colder and sharper than Arthur had ever heard it before, his usual plush lips pressed in a thin line, "Because he _did_."

Cobb simply stared at Eames, uncomprehending, but Arthur got it right away. He felt his stomach give a twist of horror and disgust. Horror for Eames and disgust for the dead mark, that was.

"How do you think I bought you that extra half hour, hm?" Eames asked, and now his voice was silky smooth and dangerous, his grey eyes hard and dark as steel.

Cobb's own blue eyes went round, and he opened his mouth but nothing came out. He didn't have any answers. Arthur couldn't think of anything to say either, even though he was pretty sure that staying silent would actually be worse than saying the wrong thing.

It didn't seem to matter to Eames. In fact, Arthur wondered if the man would have listened even if one of them _had_ been able to spit out something.

"Ta," he said, and somehow he'd made it to the door while they'd been standing there in stunned silence, his suitcase in his hand.

"Eames," Arthur tried, stepping toward him, but before he could get any more words out, the forger was gone.

Arthur wondered whether Eames would ever be willing to work with them again. He wondered if he would ever _see_ Eames again. And he knew that he had to, he _had_ to go after Eames.

Because he couldn't let this end this way.

Arthur wanted nothing more than to go directly after Eames, but Cobb needed help breaking down their erstwhile office, and with a murdered mark behind them, the more quickly they got that done the better.

"Send me Eames' share of the money when you get it," Arthur told Cobb as they made a final check of the suite, making sure that absolutely nothing was left behind.

Cobb gave him an intent look, eyes narrowing. "You're going after him?"

"Of course," Arthur said, as though it were a given. And maybe it shouldn't have been, but it was. Or maybe it should have been and maybe Cobb shouldn't have been surprised. Then again, Eames and Arthur had never been what anyone would call friendly. In fact, calling them civil was at times a stretch.

"Tell him...." Cobb paused, running his free hand over his hair, tugging strands loose instead of slicking it back, his expression tight. "Look, just... just tell him... for me. Okay?"

"I will," Arthur said, because even if Cobb couldn't speak the words, Arthur was more than willing to pass along the man's apology.

He just didn't know whether Eames would be willing to hear it, much less accept it.

=+=

Arthur had to leave the country before he could catch up with Eames. Not that this was completely unexpected. Not that Arthur didn't think that this was probably a good idea, for both of them, what with the mark who'd gotten his brains blown out and all.

Cobb delivered the money in a timely fashion. It seemed as though their client didn't care whether the mark was alive or dead, as long as they got their information. Arthur was kind of disgusted, but he was also glad. The client could have refused them payment and since extraction was illegal, and murder far less so, they would have had no recourse but to suck it up and accept the loss.

As it was, the payment was generous and Cobb sent Eames' share to Arthur along with his own, as directed. Arthur was unsurprised to find that Eames had yet to contact Cobb for it.

Eames had fled to London, which was also hardly surprising to Arthur. What did surprise him a little was the fact that he was able to track the man's passage so easily. Well, it was easy for Arthur. That didn't mean anyone else could have done it.

So far it didn't seem as though any of them were going to be connected to the mark's death. Arthur had done a thorough job cleaning the room. They'd all been careful setting things up, though they had, of course, been thinking more of the possibility of the mark tracing things back to them, not the police. Arthur was glad for this. Things were complicated enough without the authorities getting involved.

When he found the hotel Eames was staying in, he figured it was only going to get _more_ complicated. But he couldn't leave it at that. Couldn't leave it alone. Only two other men besides Eames knew what had happened, and Cobb certainly wasn't going to be able to deal with this, not by any stretch of the imagination. Not that Arthur felt he himself was really equipped to do anything. But he'd still do better than Cobb; and _someone_ had to do _something_.

It shouldn't necessarily be Arthur, but by necessity it couldn't be anyone else.

Arthur felt a distinct sense of anxiety as he knocked on Eames' hotel door. But that was only to be expected, given the nature of their last parting. He wasn't even sure why he was nervous. He didn't think that he was afraid of any violent physical repercussions, even if he wasn't sure of his welcome. It was more likely the emotional weight of the conversation he intended on initiating. And yet he couldn't leave this alone. He just couldn't let Eames walk away and deal with this alone for the rest of his life.

He didn't feel any sense of obligation. Eames was a grown man who had joined them on this job by choice and who had done what he had done to distract the mark by choice. But Arthur knew about what had happened, and he couldn't turn his back on that.

And, besides, there was a tiny voice whispering in the back of his head that Arthur should have realized that when a fifteen year old girl was the best forge to distract a thirty-seven year old man, there might very well be something fishy going on. That maybe he shouldn't have suggested that forgery to Eames.

Arthur didn't feel responsible, but neither did he feel blameless. And that was what he was doing in front of Eames' hotel door in London now.

He knocked briskly, confident that Eames would know it was him. As to whether Eames would open the door, knowing it was him.... Well, that was up to the man. Arthur had come this far. He wouldn't violate Eames any further by breaking into his room, even though it would have been child's play for him to do so.

That wasn't to say that Arthur would be leaving London, or even this hotel, any time soon if Eames _didn't_ let him in. Because he wasn't going anywhere until he'd talked to Eames, in that he was determined. He just needed it to be on Eames' terms.

At first there was no response to his knock. He waited, quietly, arms at his sides. Either Eames would open the door or he wouldn't. Arthur wasn't going to try to pound his way in. He wasn't going to leave, but he wasn't going to be obnoxious about being here. He had asked the clerk at the desk, so he knew that Eames was in.

He was just about to knock again when the door opened. Eames was almost fully dressed, wearing a button-up shirt that would have looked better if it hadn't been burnt ocher, and a pair of tweed slacks. No jacket and he was in his stocking feet, so he was evidently in for the night.

He was eyeing Arthur with something that seemed both annoyed and fond, Arthur thought. Though that last might have been wishful thinking on his part.

Arthur wasn't sure what he had expected Eames to say, but it hardly mattered. What Eames _did_ say was, "Well, I suppose you'd best come in, then." And he stepped back, allowing Arthur to enter.

The hotel room was neat and tidy. In fact, the only signs that Eames was in residence were the luggage stacked in a corner, the unmade bed, and a damp towel slung over the back of one chair.

"I've got your share of the take," Arthur said without preamble, glad he could present at least the appearance of having a normal reason for being here, invading Eames' personal space. Because for as impersonal as any given hotel room was, this was where Eames was for the nonce, and that made it his space.

And whether Eames wanted to deal with that fact or not, the man had had enough of his personal space invaded recently, Arthur thought with an internal wince. In fact, that was one hell of an understatement.

Eames took the wad of cash that Arthur had pulled out of his jacket pocket with a raised brow. Arthur had decided on this, even though it wasn't their usual way of doing things, because he figured paper money would be harder to turn down. A check could be torn in two, and showing up on Eames' doorstep empty-handed but with the promise that there was payment ready to be transferred to his account wouldn't have carried the same weight. After all, that last could be as easily accomplished with a quick email or text message.

Eames didn't seem inclined to refuse his share of the payment, though his wry expression clearly told Arthur that he had guessed the reasoning behind Arthur showing up with it.

"Thanks," he said diffidently, moving to place the cash in a small strongbox Arthur hadn't noticed sitting on the table.

Now that his self-appointed task had been accomplished, technically Arthur had no further reason to be here. But since what he had actually come for had been something else entirely, and they both damned well knew it, he had zero intention of leaving.

First things being first, there was something that he needed to say, because it was kind of important.

"Cobb apologizes for being a dick."

Eames turned from closing the strongbox with a sharp little click, one brow raised. He didn't look any different than normal, maybe a little more haggard, but Arthur's awareness of him, his way of looking at Eames was forever changed now, and they both knew it.

"Does he really?"

Arthur couldn't read anything in the smooth tone of Eames' voice, but he wasn't stupid; he knew he was going to have to tread lightly. Still, he couldn't just walk away and leave Eames to deal with this alone. Not and live with himself afterward.

"Well," he admitted, stepping further into the hotel room, so that Eames couldn't try to shoulder him out before he'd said his piece... whatever that was. "Not in so many words, because he was having trouble being articulate. But the intent was there, and he asked me to communicate to you what he wasn't able to say."

Eames actually grinned at this, but the expression was hollow, sitting on his face like a loose mask. Arthur winced internally, because he knew that usually Eames was better at hiding his weakness than this. He knew that he was seeing something that he shouldn't really be privy to. But he couldn't regret it, because Eames needed _someone_ here, and Arthur wouldn't have wanted anyone else to see Eames like this.

Maybe it was selfish of him. But he wanted to keep this strange new vulnerable Eames all to himself.

Eames shrugged, his broad shoulders moving easily under the material of his shirt. "There's nothing he needs to apologize for."

Arthur scowled. "There really is," he replied, awkward and uncomfortable. "And I need to apologize as well."

This time Eames honestly looked surprised. "What?"

Arthur fought the urge to fidget, unwilling to reveal how unsettled he was feeling. "I should have known something was wrong. Shouldn't have let things reach the point that they did."

"Oh, yes, because I'm not an adult who can make his own choices," Eames said with scathing amounts of sarcasm.

Arthur shook his head. "No, that's not--" He cut himself off, sighed despairingly, then tried again. "When the ideal forgery for a grown man was a teenage girl, I should have _known_ something was wrong. That's all I meant."

Eames looked thoughtful, and far less traumatized than Arthur had feared. "Well, it's good to know that you're not viewing the world around you with a completely jaded eye," he informed Arthur, tilting his head. It almost looked as though _he_ wanted to comfort _Arthur_. And that just wasn't right.

"Still." Arthur scowled, and let the guilt he'd been holding at bay wash over him. If Eames wasn't willing to make Arthur a target, he'd make himself a target. "I ought to have researched the mark more carefully."

Eames snorted. "I'm pretty sure he's covered his tracks effectively up to this point," he said, waving a hand as though he could brush away Arthur's concerns. "Else he'd already have been in prison."

That was true, Arthur had to admit. "But...."

"Relax, Arthur," Eames said, turning his back and running his fingers lightly along the edge of his strongbox. "It's not really much different than all the times I've seduced a mark." He paused and snorted. "Well, it was different for that bastard, because in his mind he was forcing a teenage girl. But for me it wasn't all that different."

"You realize that's not incredibly reassuring," Arthur snapped, suddenly hot and cold at the same time with overwhelming emotion. He knew that his voice sounded thin and strained, but he wasn't able to control it. "In fact, that puts a distinctly unsettling spin on almost every job I've worked with you."

Eames turned to stare at him, and he had the gall to look _surprised_ by Arthur vehemence.

Arthur scowled at him fiercely. "And anyway, it _was_ different. You weren't a consenting adult. You said 'no' and he did it anyway."

"The little girl that he thought I was said 'no'," Eames corrected, and Arthur fought the overwhelming urge to grab the man and _shake_ him until he could see sense, or at least until his teeth rattled. "Not me."

"Did you or did you not tell him 'no'?" Arthur asked, his voice hard and uncompromising.

Eames' generous mouth twisted and he averted his eyes.

"That is my point," Arthur concluded, but in this case he didn't feel good about being right.

"I could've dropped the forge, could have overpowered him," Eames said, and he sounded as though he believed what he was saying. "I chose not to, which makes it--"

"If you say 'consensual' I will punch you in the face," Arthur threatened through gritted teeth. He meant it, too. At this point he was feeling so highly strung that it was a very real danger.

"It was _not_ rape," Eames snarled, folding his arms defensively.

"It _was_ ," Arthur flashed in return. "Whether you want to admit it or not, that's exactly what it was. And I can understand why you might want to deny it, but you _can't_. You know that and I know that."

"Fuck you," Eames sneered inelegantly.

Instead of responding immediately, Arthur took a moment to draw in a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. He hadn't come here to pick a fight with Eames; he'd come to make sure he was okay.

"I'm just saying," he said, trying to speak as evenly as he normally did, "That _what he did to you_ was not right. I'm not saying anything about the choice _you_ made. That's not my place."

"Do _not_ try to make me into a victim," Eames snapped, his dark eyes flashing, and evidently he wasn't ready to be done with the argument they weren't having. "Like you said, I chose this. I knew exactly what I was doing. I could have stopped it at any time."

"I'm not trying to--" Arthur cut himself off, grinding his teeth, nails biting hard and blunt into his palms. He used the pain to ground himself; needed to regain complete control before he continued. "Stop that," he gritted. "I know what you're doing."

"What?" Eames sounded so outraged that he might almost have convinced Arthur. Except for the roiling emotions behind his stiff features. Except for the darkness in his eyes. And, yes, that was partially anger, but there were a lot of other emotions there as well. There was something desperate in Eames that he was trying to hide, but Arthur saw it, and he needed to respond to that neediness, not the antagonism.

"Stop deliberately trying to make me angry so that I leave," Arthur directed softly but firmly. "I'm not going to do it."

"Why not?" Eames didn't sound anything so much as he sounded frustrated. "Why the bloody hell are you here, Arthur?"

"Because I was worried about you," Arthur replied honestly. He didn't think that anything other than the blunt truth was going to get through to Eames. Besides, Eames deserved to know.

It certainly shut him up. Eames' eyes went wide and his mouth closed with a snap. Arthur wasn't sure what sort of reaction he was looking for, but then, he didn't really get one. Eames silently went and sat on the bed, looking in Arthur's direction but not actually meeting his eyes.

"I was fine, you know," he finally said, his husky voice even lower than usual. "Before you showed up here. I was doing just fine. And you had to come in here and...."

He trailed away, not seeming inclined to complete his sentence, more than a little lost.

Arthur weighed his response carefully. It seemed that Eames was more receptive now, but that could change in a heartbeat, he already knew.

"I'm not going to apologize for showing up here," he said, crossing and sitting down beside Eames, maintaining a careful distance of three inches between them. "I needed to come, and I think you need me here. I know you don't _want_ me here, but you _need_ me. You need someone."

"I don't," Eames protested, but he wasn't convincing. Not to Arthur's ears, and probably not even to his own. "I really don't."

"You really do." Arthur didn't want to argue but he wasn't going to let it go, either. He was aching to reach over and touch Eames, so very close to him, but he was well aware that doing so could be a terrible idea right now.

Eames didn't do anything but hang his head and sigh. He was slumped, his hands loosely laced between his thighs now. He seemed weary and worn down, but at least he wasn't tense any longer.

Taking a huge chance, Arthur placed his hand on Eames' back, fingers spread, feeling the heat and hardness of flesh, muscle, and bone through the thin material of his shirt. In a strange way, he thought it was as comforting for him as it was for Eames.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and this time he meant for more than missing the possibility that the mark might be a pedophiliac rapist.

"I made the choice," Eames said, sounding small and sad. His profile was clean, his lashes long over lowered eyes. He needed a shave, as he ever did, and he didn't _look_ any different than he had before their last job.

"It was the wrong choice," Arthur murmured. Eames might not look any different, but they both knew that everything was changed now and would never be the same again.

"It's still been made," Eames replied, not getting angry, curling in on himself, seeming even more tired, even more sad. "And now I have to live with it."

"I want to help you," Arthur told him, the words burning him on the way out with how much he _meant_ them. "I want to help you live with it."

Eames loosed what he probably intended to be a scoffing sound, but it was too close to a sob for Arthur's peace of mind.

"I want to help you," he repeated firmly, willing Eames to believe him. "I _will_ help you."

Eames was trembling slightly beneath his palm and Arthur acted instinctively, moving his hand so that his arm was wrapped around the other man's upper back. Eames didn't move to shrug it off. He didn't lean into it, and he was tense beneath Arthur's arm, but he allowed the half embrace.

"I don't think you can help," Eames mumbled, and he wasn't dismissive or despairing. It was just a statement of fact.

Arthur gave it some consideration. He worked well with the subconscious, _had_ to considering his career in the dream-share, but he hadn't ever had any courses in psychology. What he was doing here, with Eames, might be dangerous and a mistake... but he had to try and do the best he could. Eames deserved nothing less than his best effort.

"I can be here," he offered, careful not to shift where he was sitting beside Eames with his arm around the other man, keeping his voice easy but not too light. "Just know that you aren't alone and that I'm not going anywhere. And that I know what happened but I don't judge you. That you don't have to talk about it." He reconsidered that almost as soon as the words left his mouth. "Unless you _want_ to talk about it. Because if you do, I'll listen."

Eames was silent for so long Arthur almost thought he wasn't going to respond at all. Then he let out another low sound, but this one actually was more of a chuckle than a sob.

"Do you know, I _do_ think I need this?" he rumbled. "There's a part of me that hates that you're here, pitying me--"

"It's not pity," Arthur broke in sharply. He didn't want to interrupt when it seemed as though Eames was on the verge of saying something important, but he just _could not_ let that slip past. "Don't mistake this for pity, Eames."

"Okay," Eames said calmly, and his lashes flickered as he glanced at Arthur. The corner of his mouth quirked in something that wasn't exactly a smile. He drew in a deep breath, straightening as he did so. This pressed him back into Arthur's arm, and Arthur didn't move it. Eames didn't seem to mind. "So it's not pity, but you're here anyway. And I hate that you know, but a part of me is relieved at the same time. That I don't have to tell you what happened... because you already know."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said again, and this time it was with a third meaning. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there to save you. The little girl that you forged, I mean. She shouldn't have been left to experience something like that all alone."

Eames looked at him now, a curious, open expression on his face. "Don't go getting all schizophrenic on me, Arthur," he instructed. "You know forging doesn't work like that. You know that there was no 'little girl'. It was just me."

Arthur shook his head but he didn't argue. He wasn't going to lecture Eames on forging when it was the man's own chosen profession, but he was well aware that Eames was oversimplifying matters. In a dream, even in the lucid world of the dream-share, it took a certain removal from self to _become_ someone else. Arthur had only dabbled in forging, discovering early on that it took too much sublimation of identity. A person had to be able to dream that they _were_ someone else in order to convincingly _be_ someone else in the dream. And Arthur wasn't able to give up control that easily. Eames was one of the best forgers in the business, and so Arthur knew this meant that despite his protests to the contrary at least part of him _had_ been that little girl who had been raped.

"Did she fight?" he asked quietly, not certain that this was the right time or the right way to press for details, but doubting there would be a better chance in the future. After all, even though Eames was accepting his presence now, that didn't mean he wouldn't kick Arthur out later.

"Of course," Eames answered, his tone light, as though they were only talking about the weather. "Wouldn't have been any fun for our mark if she hadn't, am I right?"

Arthur's jaw clenched, but he was more focused on the shudder he could feel move through the tense muscles of Eames' back than his own horror and disgust. As bad as it was for him to hear it, Eames had _experienced_ it.

"Was she able to scream?" If his voice got any lower, he'd be whispering, but it just didn't feel right to converse about this as though it was something normal, just an average debriefing. This was something that he felt Eames needed to vent, to get out, something that someone other than Eames and the dead mark needed to know. But it wasn't something Arthur _wanted_ to hear or talk about.

Eames shrugged, but he was trembling slightly again. "Once, but he had big hands."

Arthur fought to remain calm and collected, but he was filled with rage so thick that he could literally taste it, bitter at the back of his tongue. If Eames hadn't already shot and killed that mark, then Arthur would have hunted him down and done so. Hell, if the mark hadn't been dead already, Arthur would have hooked him up, taken him into a dream controlled by _Arthur_ and made him _pay_. He didn't quite know how right this instant, but he kind of thought that he'd spend some time in the future imagining the different ways he would have taken it out of the man's hide, out of his _mind_ , until he'd been nothing but a gibbering mess... and then, only _then_ would he would have shot him in the real world.

Taking a chance, Arthur leaned into Eames a little, turning his head so that he was very nearly nuzzling the other man's temple, but too afraid to actually touch him that intimately, in case it went badly. He didn't very much resemble the dead mark, and they were awake now, not dreaming, but who knew what might trigger Eames. Especially when they were actively talking about what had happened.

Arthur found he didn't have any more questions. He didn't want to know, but he knew. He didn't want to visualize, but those few stark words Eames had spoken on the subject made it impossible for him not to.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, still holding Eames in the loop of his arm, reaching with his other hand and very lightly clasping one of Eames' hands. "If I'd known, if I'd even suspected, I'd have come to your rescue."

Eames didn't protest the switch from "her" to "you", and he didn't pull away. Neither did he point out that if he'd chosen, he could have rescued himself. Instead, he leaned closer and rested his head on Arthur's shoulder.

"I don't want your apologies," he murmured, the hand Arthur wasn't holding snaking over to clasp Arthur's fingers where they were settled around his. At least he didn't sound angry and vehement, as he had done when rejecting the perceived pity earlier.... But he sounded tired and resigned, and Arthur didn't like that much better. "You didn't know, couldn't have guessed. Hell, I had no clue until he'd laid hands on me. And then... well, I made the wrong choice, but it's too late to take it back."

"No amount of money was worth that," Arthur said, before realizing how that might sound. "I mean, in general," he hastened to add. "I'm talking about the job, about what we _all_ did; you, me, and Cobb. You know?"

"Yeah," Eames sighed, and he didn't pull away. "I get that. But you know that part of it was also pride, right?"

"How so?" Arthur wasn't following and he wasn't ashamed to ask for clarification. He had the strong feeling that he and Eames were both going to approach this matter from different mindsets, and that this wouldn't change no matter how many times they talked about it. Not that he expected Eames would want to talk about it after this current conversation was over.

"Well, I was supposed to provide a distraction, wasn't I?" Eames replied, straightening, but not pulling away from the arm Arthur still had slung around him. It should have felt strange and awkward, Arthur thought, but for some reason it brought him a modicum of comfort. He only hoped it was doing the same for Eames.

"You know what else would have distracted him?" Arthur asked dryly, quirking one brow. "Switching back to your real form and crushing his balls in your hand."

This blunt declaration actually startled a honest-to-God laugh out of Eames, and it made Arthur's heart skip a beat to hear it.

"I need a Pocket Arthur," Eames declared, and he was actually smiling as he said it, "To speak out and offer sage advice whenever I'm about to do something fool-headed or dangerous. Would you consent to be my conscience, darling?"

Arthur smiled back before he could stop himself, but he didn't regret it. He could see Eames' gaze flicker over his dimples, and the man relaxed even further. So even though the sudden focus made him pink a little, which he knew that Eames would also catch, he didn't really mind.

After all, it wasn't as though he hadn't been witness to Eames in one of his most vulnerable moments; immediately after waking from being raped in the dream-share. He could hardly begrudge him this moment.

"I doubt I'd fit in your pocket, even when we're under," he replied, keeping his expression light but hopefully not overly cheerful. He wanted to put Eames at ease while not behaving in an inappropriate way. "But if you're asking, I'll be glad to stick with you a while."

Eames' face darkened, though not to the distressed expression he'd been sporting earlier. "Well, as much as I appreciate the offer, there's a little problem with that," he rumbled, biting his lip and casting his gaze down.

"Which would be?"

Eames shrugged uncomfortably, but Arthur made note that he was still sitting passively in the ring of Arthur's arm, their hands still clasped. "Well, I doubt I can bring myself to face Cobb again for... a while, at least. Possibly forever."

"So?" Arthur challenged, though he kept his voice even and calm. "Cobb and I aren't attached at the hip. I work with him because he's the best, and vice versa. You are also the best. So if I work with you rather than him, it's hardly the end of the world. And he'll just have to deal with not having me as his point man."

Eames was staring at him in surprise, which irked Arthur, because since when had he and Cobb become a package deal? Clearly it was time for a break, completely separate from Arthur making a commitment to Eames and his needs. Although, that latter was certainly a compelling reason.

"I'm not sure..." Eames began hesitantly, his fingers shifting restlessly in Arthur's light grip. "I'm not sure how soon I'll be getting back on that particular horse...."

"Forging? Or the dream-share in general?" Arthur didn't want to be pedantic, but sometimes there really was a need for specificity. This was one of those times.

Eames inhaled deeply, held it a moment, then deflated. "All of the above?" He didn't sound certain, but Arthur couldn't blame him. "Arthur, I don't even know when I'm going to be able to _work_ again."

Arthur nodded, because this wasn't an unexpected response. Unwelcome, yes, but certainly not unexpected. For all he'd been trying to play it off as nothing untoward when Arthur had first entered the room, Eames couldn't have remained unaffected by what had happened.

"Have you thought that a vacation might be nice?" he suggested, giving Eames a grin that couldn't seem to decide whether it was sympathetic or mischievous. He hoped that it came off as a bit of both. And he sincerely hoped that Eames wouldn't find it hideously inappropriate.

Eames' brows rose, seemingly more in query than anything else.

"I'm serious," Arthur pursued. "It's not something that hasn't crossed my mind from time to time. We've both got a decent amount of cash to carry us for a while. And we're both legendary in the business; it's unlikely anyone will forget about us if we vanish for a while. Hell, even if they did, it wouldn't take us long to rebuild our reputations."

Eames opened and closed his mouth a few times, soundlessly. "Are you.... Really? I mean, why would you want to...?"

"Let me tell you a secret, Eames," Arthur said softly, daring to lean in closer when he wasn't sure it would be welcome. Eames didn't shy away, so he counted it a win. "I am not a machine. There's a reason I'm working in a job with so much flexibility. I love working in the dream-share, true. But the truth is that I enjoy time off as much as the next person."

Eames licked his lips, then gave Arthur a small smile, his crooked front teeth flashing. "I do believe I happen to be the next person... right now," he offered. "Next to you, at any rate."

"And how do you feel about time off?" Arthur asked, honestly curious.

"Increasingly good, actually," Eames replied without too long a pause, which Arthur took to be a positive sign. He sounded fairly certain of this answer, which was even better. "Especially since you've explicitly offered to join me."

Arthur nodded, allowing himself to grin widely. He knew this wasn't anything like the end of the matter. Eames wasn't going to talk to Arthur in vague terms about what had happened, spend a few days on break, and be magically better. Hell, he would probably be lashing out at Arthur before long, as an easy target, doing his best to break their newly realized truce.... But Arthur was not going to be shaken, would not give up on Eames, and he had no intention of letting the man deal with this alone. Not today, and not as long as it took.

"I was thinking somewhere warm," he said. "Somewhere with lots of sand, and salt water, and fruity drinks."

Eames was staring at him as though he had never seen him before. "I've.... I have to admit that I've always had the secret desire to see you in swimwear," he said softly, hesitantly, as though he was unsure whether Arthur would respond negatively to this or not.

Arthur only smiled more widely. Considering that they'd just been discussing Eames being raped while in a forge of a teenage girl, he thought it was only fair that Eames take some liberties of his own, and that Arthur give the man something he could hold onto now, as well as something to look forward to.

"Well, I can hardly sport a button-up shirt and a tie on the beach, now can I," he replied easily. Because it was true. He did have some nice, light linen outfits that he kept for tropical locals, but he also owned a few swim trunks. And if it would bring a smile to Eames' face, he would be willing to wear them.

"I guess... I guess we have a deal, then," Eames said, giving him a soft smile, some of the darkness and desperation leaving his eyes. Not banished for good, of course. But he looked better.

Arthur might not be sure what the future held, but he knew one thing. He was glad that he had come to London, shown up here at Eames' hotel room. Because, whether the man wanted to admit it or not, Eames really had needed him.

And Arthur... well, he could admit that he had needed to come to Eames. Couldn't have stayed away, in fact.

He hated the necessity that had driven him here, but he was glad that he had come.

=+=

The sun was golden, the water was azure, and the sand was white. Arthur didn't think that he could have found a more beautiful place to vacation if he'd had weeks or even months to search.

Actually, their current location had been Eames' doing, though Arthur had picked the hotel they were staying in. And so far it had proved a good choice. Eames had raised both brows when he'd discovered that Arthur had gotten them one room. Granted, it had twin beds; Arthur wasn't _stupid_. But they were sharing living space, sharing the bathroom, sharing meals, spending all their free time together.

Eames didn't seem too put out by this, actually. And if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop in regards to the care and attention Arthur was paying him... well, he could continue to wait. His mental health and well being wasn't some passing fancy or fleeting interest that Arthur was indulging in. And Arthur was _not_ going anywhere. Not until he felt that Eames would be able to care for himself.

And... possibly not even then. Depending on how Eames felt on the matter. Because the more time Arthur spent with Eames, hanging out on the beach, lounging in the hotel, eating in local cafes, the more he found that he _enjoyed_ spending time with Eames.

In point of fact, he didn't want this to end.

He couldn't be sure how Eames felt about it. And he was pretty sure that Eames had no idea how _Arthur_ felt. But he wasn't going anywhere, and when the time was right, he would make sure that Eames understood.

If there was one thing Arthur was good at, after specificity, it was patience.

=+=

Like his two team members before him, Dominic Cobb had gotten out of the country shortly after the job had gone sideways. Even though the local authorities hadn't appeared to have any leads where the death of the man Eames had shot had been concerned, it had only seemed prudent. If the autopsy had picked up on the sedatives in his system, the authorities evidently hadn't connected it to the dream-share... or maybe they were keeping that quiet, in order to help them in their investigation.

At any rate, Cobb didn't think it was a bad idea to vacate. After a couple of weeks, though, he began to wonder where Arthur had gotten to, and he was a little tired of his constant worrying over Eames. Some people called Dom self involved, and they weren't completely wrong, but it wasn't as though he didn't care about what happened to others. And he _liked_ Eames, considered the forger to be something approaching a friend.

Well, maybe not. But he was a valued acquaintance and sometime colleague. Much like Arthur, only Dom didn't have the need for a forger or thief as often he did a point man.

He wasn't about to call Eames. He kind of doubted the number he had on record would still reach the man anyway; Eames seemed to change phones as often as he changed faces, so going to meet him in person was almost the only way to get a hold of him.

So he called Arthur. Which made more sense, anyway. Arthur was the one Dom had been working with on a semi-regular basis. Arthur was the one who had gone after Eames. Arthur was the one Dom had sent his half-assed apology with.

Honestly, he didn't blame Eames for what he had done, shooting the mark as soon as they were up out of the dream-share. And he felt bad, even though he didn't consider what had happened to have been his fault. Not directly, anyway. But it had been _his_ job, and something horrible had happened to Eames while working on _his_ job. And Dom had profited from the successful conclusion of said job; an extraction that probably wouldn't have been possible if Eames hadn't... _distracted_ the mark.

Though, it had been a frankly hideous way of offering a distraction. Poor Eames.

"I was wondering when you'd call," Arthur said when he answered his phone, not even offering a greeting first. He sounded okay. He sounded... relaxed and pleased with himself, in fact, if Dom could judge from that one short sentence.

"Are you...?" Now that he had Arthur on the line, Dom found he was tongue-tied. He didn't know exactly what he wanted to say, to ask. He didn't know where to start.

"We're doing fine," Arthur took pity and offered, and he _sounded_ as though he was doing fine. Dom was torn between feeling reassured and feeling irritated because he'd been fretting for two weeks over what seemed to be nothing.

"Really?"

"Pretty much." And there was the more honest answer, the one that Dom had sort of been expecting. He hadn't been worrying over nothing after all. That wasn't reassuring.

"So you're still with Eames, then," and it wasn't really a question. Dom had been hoping....

"Yes." He couldn't tell from the one clipped word if Arthur was feeling defensive, impatient, or if he was just being his usual efficient self.

"I'm glad," he offered, and he really meant it.

"We're not sure when we'll be working again," Arthur said, and now his tone was a little hesitant, as though he didn't know how Dom was going to react to this announcement.

"I don't doubt that," he replied, grimacing. After what Eames had had done to him.... "You're taking good care of him, right?"

"Absolutely," Arthur let him know without hesitation. "We're giving ourselves some time off, spending it at the coast." He didn't say which coast, and Dom didn't press.

"Well, call me if you need me," Dom instructed, and now he was grinning, even though it might not be absolutely appropriate. He was just... he was just happy for them. Eames _and_ Arthur. "Whenever. Wherever. For whatever reason. I mean it."

"Thank you, Cobb." Arthur was just as sincere, and Dom felt that he wouldn't be hearing from him for quite some time... but that was all right too. As long as Arthur was with Eames, and Eames was with Arthur, they would be okay.

"Goodbye, Arthur," he said softly, and it sounded as though it was as much a beginning as it was an ending.

"Goodbye, Dom."

=+=

It had been close to three weeks since they had arrived at the coast, and Eames was feeling better. No, really, he was.

He had to admit, despite his deep desire to believe otherwise, that he'd had a lot of ground to recover. He might not have come to the realization, but Arthur had made it abundantly clear to him that he'd been more shaken by his experience than he had at first thought.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that last. Oh, he was grateful, comforted, and titillated all at the same time, to have Arthur paying him so much attention. But he didn't know why Arthur remained, when Eames' hour of need had so clearly passed. The clock had moved on. He might not be one hundred percent better, but he'd been able to leave most of the unpleasantness behind him, and he honestly didn't need Arthur hand-holding him any longer.

And yet, here Arthur was. Out on the hotel patio with Eames. Wearing a pair of floppy Bermuda shorts with pineapples printed on them, a loose, short-sleeved cotton shirt, zinc standing out white on the bridge of his nose, his hair product-free and curling around his temples in complete disarray. He was sipping a disturbingly fruity mixed drink and watching the waves break against the sand.

He wasn't even paying attention to Eames right now, and yet Eames could feel Arthur's affection washing over his like those same waves.

And that was the strangest thing, wasn't it? That he and Arthur could not only get along, but that they had come to... like each other.

At least, Eames knew that he had come to appreciate the things he'd learned about Arthur. Things he hadn't suspected before. Things he had maybe known, but not been witness to. Things he'd seen before but hadn't been as fascinated by, when they hadn't been a part of the whole.

He had, for some reason, already known that Arthur showered before he went to bed, washing the pomade out of his hair. But he hadn't known that Arthur wore a pair of cotton pyjama bottoms and a faded teeshirt to sleep in. And he'd been aware that Arthur rose early to exercise, but knowing this and seeing him perform his kata in the centre of the hotel room before going out for a run... well, those were two completely different things.

He now knew how Arthur liked his steak cooked, what mixed drinks he favoured, which side he slept on, what his alarm sounded like in the morning, that he had a red toothbrush... among many other things. And Arthur didn't seem to mind that Eames knew these everyday, mundane, _intimate_ things about him.

Eames wasn't sure which intrigued him more; seeing Arthur's human side, or his own response to this. Because he found that he liked it. Liked seeing Arthur this way, liked spending time with him. It made him smile, when two weeks ago he couldn't have felt less like smiling. When he smiled, he knew that he meant it.

And when Arthur smiled at him... Eames thought that the other man might actually mean it as well.

"Do you want to try that Italian bistro for dinner?" Arthur asked, glancing over at Eames and dimpling slightly. He'd picked up a bit of colour, which suited him, and Eames thought all over again that this vacation, as strange as it was, had been a good idea for both of them. "Or did you want to save that for lunch tomorrow?"

Eames licked his lips. Going with the flow was all very well and good, but there came a point at which a man had to ask the hard questions. No matter how much he didn't want to.

"Arthur... what are we doing here?"

Arthur turned his full attention to Eames, setting his drink down. He didn't look surprised; rather, he looked as though he had been expecting this query. And he also looked as though he knew the answer. Which was why Eames was a little confounded when Arthur replied and his answer proved not to be any kind of an answer at all.

"Whatever we want."

Eames blinked, frowning faintly. He'd been hoping for something.... "Could you be a little more specific?" he requested, trying really hard not to scowl. Arthur looked so relaxed and at ease. Eames hated to take that away from him, but he just couldn't go on like this, wondering, confounded, confused.

"I don't know," Arthur said, not seeming fazed in the slightest, "Could _you_? That was a broad question, Eames."

Eames winced, because that was the truth. Just because Arthur so often seemed able to read his mind, that didn't mean he should assume that the man would always be able to do so.

"All right, then," he sighed. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Arthur nodded, dark strands of hair tumbling around his temples, and Eames itched to run his fingers through the loose curls. And _that_ wasn't a new feeling, but it was one he'd set aside so often in the past that he barely felt the twinge anymore. It had been growing stronger over the last nineteen days, though. As he'd been... well, getting to know Arthur. Really getting to know him. And finding that he honestly liked the man.

"I suppose that's a fair question," Arthur was saying, drawing Eames' attention back to the conversation. "Do you want the long answer or the short answer?"

Eames grimaced. "Arthur, stop toying with me."

Arthur raised one dark brow, his expression quizzical, but his warm brown eyes soft and gentle. "I'm really not," he replied softly.

"All right, then," Eames said, deciding _in for a penny, in for a pound_. "Let's have the long answer, then."

Arthur huffed out a little laugh, shaking his head. "I was hoping you'd go for the short answer."

"Which was going to be?"

Arthur's amused grin turned a little sheepish. "Because I want to be here."

Now it was Eames' turn to raise his brows. "And you didn't think that would prompt me to ask for the long answer after all?"

Arthur chuckled again. "I suspected it would, but I had hoped it might be enough."

Eames frowned, wondering if Arthur meant for him to feel as though he was lacking in some way for not understanding what he meant. But he knew that this was a somewhat uncharitable thought on his part; Arthur wasn't like that. "I suppose it should be," he said mildly. "It's not really my business, after all, is it."

Arthur's forehead wrinkled beneath his loose bangs. "That's not what I meant, and that's not true besides, Eames," he chided. "Obviously this is your business. It's as much yours as it is mine." He sighed heavily, but he didn't seem to be exasperated with Eames. Just... strangely anxious.

"Don't think I'm not glad you're here," Eames offered, because he felt as though he should give Arthur something back, when he was asking so much of the man. Besides, it was the truth, and he felt like he should speak it. "Because I am."

"And that's why," Arthur said simply. His smile was honest, the same as the words Eames had just spoken. "That's part of the long reason."

Eames wanted a new drink, wanted to steal what might be left of Arthur's drink, but alcohol only provided false courage, and he didn't need to go down that road. He had a lot of vices, gambling being one of the big ones, but he could thank his lucky stars that drinking had never been a problem for him. Not after growing up with his father's less than sterling example. Eames got all the artificial stimulation he needed when he used the PASIV device. Somnacin wasn't anything like alcohol, but Eames resolutely refused to have more than one chemical dependency.

"What's the rest of it?" he prompted quietly. He was, after all, a gambling man. And what was the worst that could happen? Arthur leaving him? That was what he'd been expecting all this time. He actually didn't think that it was going to happen; if he hadn't chased Arthur off yet, he doubted anything in this conversation would do so. But he was going to find out, wasn't he. That was part of what made it a gamble; not knowing ahead of time.

Arthur licked his lips, but it didn't seem that he was anxious. He looked calm and collected, the way he usually did, his eyes heavy lidded. His ease set Eames at ease, and even though he felt a little as though his heart was going to beat its way out of his chest, he didn't feel uptight or apprehensive. He wasn't quite sure why he was tense. He thought that maybe it was more anticipation than anything else.... But anticipation of what? What Arthur was going to say, he supposed.

"I'm here because I want to be," Arthur repeated. "Because as much as you needed me to be here, I needed to be here. For my own peace of mind. And now that you maybe don't need me as much, I still want to stay. I want to continue to spend time with you, and I hope that you want to keep on spending time with me."

Eames found himself nodding along with Arthur's words. Not so much because they were anything he had expected, because they weren't. But more because they sounded _right_ as Arthur spoke them. They made a huge amount of sense. Which shouldn't be surprising, seeing as Arthur was one of the most sensible people Eames had ever known.

Arthur paused and offered him a half smile. "I hope that's enough. It's... really all I've got."

Eames reached over and fumbled for one of Arthur's hands. He felt awkward, and it was a little strange, but when Arthur's long, slender but strong fingers curled around his own... it felt right, and he actually felt himself relax instead of tensing more.

"That's more than enough," he informed Arthur, his voice coming out more quietly than he had intended. Arthur had been brave enough to put it all out there; the least he could do would be to respond in kind. "Thank you."

"I wasn't very specific," Arthur protested mildly, though he was smiling again, and his hand was firm around Eames, seeming disinclined to release his grip.

"You were enough so," Eames told him, and he couldn't help smiling in return. "You told me something I didn't know. Now I don't need to guess at your motivations. As for the details... well, we can work our way through those together."

Arthur looked a little startled by this frank reply, but not incredibly so. His smile widened. "So long as we're in agreement," he said, and for some reason he sounded a little breathless.

Eames nodded, and suddenly he felt unaccountably shy and incredibly bold at the same time. And they were still holding hands.

"Shall we go and clean up, then hit the bistro?" he offered. He wasn't sure if he was deflecting or if he was just hungry, but either way, Arthur's smile didn't falter, and he rose gracefully, tugging Eames to his feet.

"That sounds like a plan," Arthur breathed, and then he leaned in unexpectedly and pressed his lips to Eames'. Dry and warm and gentle. Nothing like any of the kisses Eames had ever known, but neither was it anything like a heavy palm over his mouth, cutting off screams and air at once, and it was somehow unbearably sweet of Arthur. It was almost like a question. Then only problem being, Eames didn't yet know the answer.

"Oh. Well," he said, as Arthur leaned back as quickly and smoothly as he had leaned in. "You see, now, _that_ brings up an entirely new set of questions."

The dimpled smile Arthur shot him as he ducked his head was unbearably cute, he had to admit, and the pink in his cheeks was not all from the sun. "And?"

Eames considered. He'd been through a lot in the past month. He was still recovering emotionally and mentally from what had happened to him in the dream-share. But Arthur knew about that, and he was here to support Eames, while not treating him like a cripple or a victim. Arthur knew what had happened, and yet he had still been bold enough to make the first move. Eames wasn't about to reject this out of hand... especially not when he was beginning to think that this might be something he might actively want.

"I think we should figure those questions out together as well," he replied, and it was worth the gamble to see the way that Arthur's eyes lit up.

"Thank you," Arthur said simply.

And since Eames strongly felt that he should be the one thanking Arthur, and since he knew that Arthur wasn't going to be willing to accept his thanks, he responded equally simply, by leaning forward. This time he was the one to kiss Arthur, and it felt right. It felt like something he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

And if he was interpreting Arthur's somewhat cryptic words correctly, he thought that this might be what Arthur wanted too.

He hoped so, at any rate.

=+=

"So... have we reached some sort of understanding?"

Considering that they were lying on the same bed on their sides, one of Arthur's arms ringing Eames' waist and his cheek resting on the man's shoulderblade, the question that Eames mumbled into the pillow might have seemed like a silly one. But Arthur knew that it wasn't, and he took it seriously.

"I'd like to think so," he replied softly, turning his head to press a light kiss to Eames' shoulder through the material of his shirt.

They hadn't had sex. Eames didn't seem to be ready for that yet, and Arthur certainly wasn't going to push. The way Arthur saw it, Eames was either going to want to have sex very soon or not for a long, long time. Either way, it was going to be _his_ choice.

Arthur wasn't going to treat Eames as though he was fragile, because he knew that the man hated and resented that. But neither was he going to do anything that even hinted of coercion. Eames was doing _very_ well considering what had been done to him in the dream, but Arthur was never going to forget that it had happened. And ignoring it wasn't the same thing as healing. He knew that even if Eames might wish otherwise.

"Do you...." Eames hesitated, seemed a little lost. "What should I do?"

Arthur almost snorted, but he controlled himself. It wasn't a stupid question. It was a sad, somewhat depressing one. But, more importantly, it was a question he knew how to answer.

"Just stop waiting for me to change my mind," he whispered, shifting up a little so that he could speak directly into Eames' ear. The tops of his thighs were snug against the back of Eames', in solid lines of warmth and hard muscle, but the two of them were in too precarious a place, emotionally speaking, for Arthur to let it turn him on... much. "Because I'm not going to."

Eames drew in a deep breath, Arthur's arm shifting with the movement, and he fought the desire to tighten it slightly, to hold Eames more closely to him.

"That's... not... going to be easy for me," Eames finally admitted, in a small voice. But his hand had drifted down to clasp Arthur's, over his stomach, their fingers twining, and Arthur thought that this one small gesture said more than his words had.

"All I'm asking for is that you try," Arthur murmured, trying to sound soothing, not sure whether he was succeeding. He gave in to temptation, pressing a gentle kiss to the line of Eames' neck. "It'll get easier with time, you know it will."

Eames sucked in another breath, more quick and shallow this time, and Arthur was just beginning to fear that he'd pushed too far, when Eames shifted _into_ him, pressing his body back more firmly against Arthur's while at the same time tugging his arm more closely around his waist.

"I'll try," Eames promised, and if he didn't sound completely certain of himself, he at least sounded sincere.

"Then we're going to be all right," Arthur said, daring to lightly kiss the tender spot behind Eames' ear. Instead of replying, Eames rolled within the circle of Arthur's arm. The move was awkward and Arthur very nearly took an elbow to the cheekbone, but it was worth it when they were settled face to face.

Eames' grey eyes were dark, but not with fear or anger or desperation. It _was_ strong emotion, but Arthur thought that it was more positive than negative.

"I want to get back to work," Eames said, and out of anything Arthur could have expected, that would have been the very last thing that might have crossed his mind. It seemed like a non sequitur, but he knew it really wasn't.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, as though they weren't laying here an inch or two away from kissing. Because he _was_ glad, and it was a major step on the road to recovery for Eames.

And then Eames was moving in, obliterating those separating inches as his mouth slanted over Arthur's, and this was a _real_ kiss. Not that there had been anything wrong with the careful pecks on the lips they had exchanged before... but this time there was more of an exchange of saliva, and when Eames' tongue squirmed its way into Arthur's mouth, to tease and tangle with his own, he revised his estimate for the potential of sex from "possibly very soon" to "probably right now".

"Tell me again that this isn't pity," Eames panted against Arthur's tingling lips when they finally parted for air. His fingers were sunk into Arthur's hair, and his breath was hot on Arthur's chin. He was holding Arthur as much as Arthur was holding him, and it felt _good_.

"Don't force me to hit you," Arthur growled in reply, before thinking that this might not be a very good idea; threatening a former rape victim with violence during foreplay.

Before he could wince, though, or try to take it back, Eames gave him a brilliant grin, his eyes shining. Arthur had to go a little cross-eyed to see it, but he wouldn't have missed that expression for the world. Contrary to his fears, Eames had actually seemed reassured by his threats of physical harm.

Arthur had to wonder whether that said more about himself, Eames, or the way Eames felt about Arthur, and whether it was very healthy. But then Eames moved smoothly in to claim his mouth again, and rational thought flew right out the window.

"It's not pity," he whispered into Eames' plush pink lips, because he couldn't bring himself to speak the words that would tell Eames what this _was_. But someday... maybe someday. And maybe at this hypothetical point in the future, Eames would believe him.

They were still wearing the clothes they'd had on when they'd gone out to dinner, and the evening was turning cooler, but before too much time had passed, nimble fingers had dealt with fastenings, and shirts and pants were hitting the floor. They were both heated from within, so there was no need to get under the covers, and Arthur reveled in the opportunity to just _look_ at Eames. To see those firm muscles and smooth skin stretched out before him.... And the fact that Eames didn't flinch away, didn't seem to feel any need to hide himself from Arthur's gaze, was more reassuring than any words he could have spoken.

Eames didn't shy away from Arthur's increasingly bold touches, either, and his own hands were powerful and sure as they roamed Arthur's bared body. If there were lingering aftereffects from what that bastard had done to Eames in the dream-share, it didn't carry over to this. Arthur was willing to be patient and supportive, whatever that ended up entailing, but he was very glad that their burgeoning sex life wasn't, apparently, going to be crippled by the trauma that Eames had been subjected to.

Arthur wondered over it a little. But they were waking, not dreaming, and Eames was in his own body. As well, Arthur was being careful, gentle. Not hesitant to the point that Eames might think he didn't really want this. But he wasn't about to be forceful in any way.

They came together easily, as though they had done this before. Well, obviously they had, but not with one another. This wasn't about orgasms, it was about intimacy. Of course, orgasms were nice too, and Arthur was pretty sure that one apiece had been Eames' plan. Certainly it was satisfying to bring Eames to completion in his mouth.... Not only did Arthur greatly enjoy sucking Eames off, but he also thought that, as a sexual act, it couldn't have been further from what had been done to Eames.

Besides, Arthur knew that he was good at it, and Eames did have a truly gorgeous dick.

Then, when Eames had not only the fortitude but also the _desire_ to return Arthur's blowjob to him in kind... well, that was when he could be sure that the man was well on his way to recovery. And that, yes, things were going to work out between them just fine.

He wasn't expecting that everything would go smoothly. He hadn't been that naive since early childhood. But they were both in this and they would both be trying. And the long and short of it was that that was what it was going to take.

Now that the heat of their mutual passion had dissipated, Arthur made sure that they got under the covers. They curled together, still naked, limbs entwined. It was more awkward lying face to face than spooning, but Arthur liked it, because this way they could trade lazy kisses, and he could _see_ the way Eames' features relaxed, could see that he was calm, happy, replete....

"Do you really like me, Arthur?" Eames whispered, his eyes heavy lidded, but wakeful, his hands clasped around Arthur's where they were pressed between their chests.

It was such an elementary school question, Arthur thought, and a somewhat ridiculous one when he'd just had Eames' dick in his mouth, but he thought that Eames was incredibly brave for having voiced it. And so he didn't respond poorly, only leaned in to mash their lips together in a heavy, closed-mouth kiss. Eames tasted of toothpaste, not Arthur's come, but his dick had been in Eames' mouth as well. Arthur appreciated the symmetry of what they had just done. And the fact that they had both wanted it so much.

"I do," he replied honestly. "I always have. Even though you sometimes seemed to be doing your best to drive me crazy."

Eames gave him a small grin. "Well. I did like getting a response. And you were so easygoing all the time, so unflappable, that it was almost like a game to see if I could get you riled up."

Arthur smirked, because he had always suspected as much; he just hadn't ever thought Eames would admit to it. "And you see," he said softly, greatly daring, but it was easier because Eames had dared before him, "That's how I already know that you like me."

Eames looked a little surprised, then his smile widened and he pressed in to kiss Arthur more thoroughly. Once they were both breathless and Arthur thought that he might be well on the way to getting hard again, despite the fact that he was a good ten years removed from his teens, he dragged his lips free in order to speak.

"So we _have_ reached an understanding."

"I guess we have," Eames rumbled, and one of his hands slid down to clasp Arthur's ass.... But then, Arthur seemed to have buried his own fingers in Eames' hair, clutching at the nape of his neck.

"It's far too early to sleep yet," he murmured, pressing his parted lips to Eames' fat lower lip, then licking at the line of his upper lip. As good as Eames' mouth looked stretched around his dick, Arthur loved kissing it even more.

"So it is," Eames replied, and now both his hands were roaming, lazily but with purpose, over the lines and curves of Arthur's bared body. "I don't propose we leave the bed, though."

"That wasn't going to be my suggestion," Arthur chuckled as he tumbled Eames onto his back. He moved to slide over top of him, then caught himself and froze.

As though he had read Arthur's mind, Eames reached up and cupped his face in his hot palm. "It's all right," he whispered, and the fierce expression on his face had everything to do with desire and nothing to do with fear. "I'm all right, Arthur. Really. Thanks to you."

"Mm." Arthur kissed Eames again, but only briefly. "Don't give me too much credit."

"And don't give yourself too little." Eames softened his sharp tone a little by kissing him again and sticking his tongue in Arthur's mouth, but Arthur didn't intend to argue any further. Eames was making most of his recovery by himself, but it was good to know that Arthur's presence was aiding him, and that he recognized that.

Before Arthur could think how to respond, Eames rolled them so that it was Arthur who was on his back, with Eames' solid weight bearing him down into the mattress. And that felt _good_. But he paused before grabbing at the other man, because Eames had a strangely intent gleam in his eyes.

"What is it?" Arthur queried, his brows rising.

"You know..." Eames licked his lips. "You know that I don't need you to take care of me, right, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded, even though he could feel something inside his chest clench. "I know," he agreed, trying to keep his tone even and matter of fact. Because it might hurt a little to hear it, but he knew that it was true. It might not have been true three weeks ago, _hadn't_ been true three weeks ago, but it was true now.

Eames shot him a soft, somehow shy look from under his lashes, his plush lips turning up at the corners. "But... you also know that I _want_ you to continue taking care of me."

Arthur couldn't hide his surprise and didn't try to hide his pleasure at hearing this. "Well, that's good," he said breathlessly. "Because that's what I want, too."

"You'll let me take care of you in turn, won't you, Arthur?" Eames asked, and now he looked somewhat trepidatious.

"Of course," Arthur replied, wanting to set Eames' mind at ease. And it seemed to work.

There were other things they might have said, other truths they could have exposed, but their lips met and words were set aside for the moment as they let their bodies speak for them. It was something of a cliche, but in this case it was true, and Arthur didn't think he was wrong in thinking that they could understand one another, speaking or silent.

It had been a terrible thing, what had happened to Eames. There was no getting around that. But here they were now, together, and if that was what it had taken to get them here.... Well, Arthur would never stop regretting it, would never stop wishing that it hadn't happened, but he was grateful that Eames was willing to let him in, give him a chance.

They couldn't change the past, but they could affect their future. And this future was one that they were going to tackle together.

"I do like you, Arthur," Eames whispered into ear as they clung to one another under the bedcovers, and Arthur smiled. Because the words meant something else, and they both knew it. And because now he wasn't the only one who had uttered them.

They were in this together, and that was the way they were going to stay. Arthur was going to make certain of that, no matter what else might happen.

"I know," he said, kissing Eames on the temple, cheekbone, mouth.... "I like you too."

He could feel Eames' smile curving against his lips.

"I know."

=[end]=

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> Banner by the wonderful Too Rational!


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